


Whether They Are

by lanri



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternative Title: Being the Youngest Sucks, Bullied Sam, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Series, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:13:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5778103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanri/pseuds/lanri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're a normal family. John and Mary just celebrated their 20th anniversary. Dean's off to join the Marines. Sam's going through his rebellious teenager phase. But there are forces at work that will change everything. (Yeah, yeah, I know, another AU. Sorry)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“So, how do I look?” Dean spread his arms wide, grinning.

“Look at my beautiful son.” His mom approached and drew him into a hug.

“Don’t you use that uniform to get girls,” his dad said gruffly.

“Dad.” Dean rolled his eyes before glancing at Sam, who met his eyes with a raised eyebrow.

“Makes you look fat,” he said, deadpan. He grinned, but Dean thought for a moment that something was wrong with his eyes. It was gone the next moment, as his dad cuffed Sam on the back of his head.

“You gonna miss me, Sammy?” Dean asked.

“Nah, it’ll mean you’ll stop stealing my stuff,” Sam joked, but something still felt a bit off.

“Why don’t you two grab some ice cream. You have a couple hours before leaving,” Mom suggested.

“C’mon, squirt, I’ll buy you some ice cream.”

Sam scowled at the nickname, but didn’t protest the arm Dean threw around his shoulders.

“Sorry I’m gonna miss your freshman year,” Dean commented.

“Yeah,” Sam mumbled.

Dean waited, patiently. It was the only way to get Sam to open up sometimes, especially ever since he’d hit his teenage years.

“Do you have to go?” Sam blurted out.

“Yeah, buddy, you know I do.” Dean switched his hand from around Sam’s shoulder to squeezing his neck. “Four years and it’ll be your turn, y’know.”

“To go into the Marines?”

“Not necessarily. What do you want to do?”

Sam twitched. “I dunno.”

“No worries, okay? I’ll be home for Christmas.”

Sam nodded and pasted on an obviously fake smile. Dean let it slide. “I’ll race you to the ice cream shop.”

Dean got mint chocolate chip, Sam got some sort of funky blueberry flavor that Dean raised an eyebrow over but didn’t comment.

“You know those kids?” Dean asked, jerking his head to a bunch of high schoolers in the corner. Dean’s friends had mostly been older, and a lot of them had already left Lawrence.

“No,” Sam mumbled, focused on his ice cream cone. “I don’t want you to go.”

Dean made himself smile, even as his insides clenched with the nervousness that had been simmering for months now. “I’ll get to come back quite a bit, Sammy. ‘S just training right now, you know that.”

Sam hunkered down even more, and Dean found himself wishing that Sam would hit his growth spurt already. Big hands and big feet, but as of yet, no height. With Dean gone, there was no one to make sure that no one picked on him, and Dean scowled at the high school kids in the corner at the thought.

“You gonna write?” Sam mumbled.

“There’s this brand new invention called a telephone, Sammy,” Dean said with some amusement. “Seriously, bitch, it’ll be fine. Promise.”

Sam peered up through his bangs. “Pinky promise?”

Dean rolled his eyes and sighed, but stuck out his pinky. For his trouble, he got a pinky wrapped around his own and a real smile from Sam.

“C’mon, let’s get back before Mom panics and thinks we’ve run off.”

Sam flicked a mischievous glance his way. “We could.”

“Yeah, you wish.”

* * *

Sam eyed the kids at the back of the classroom before returning to his studies. He kinda felt like skipping, today, just to run out into the city and not have to think about anything.

“Page 92.”

In Sam’s experience, high school wasn’t like the TV shows where only nerds got picked on by jocks. Sam wasn’t a nerd by any definition, just small and quiet. And the guys at the back of the class weren’t jocks, they were the punks who’d been picked on in elementary, and had finally grown big enough to become bullies themselves.

Class dismissed, and Sam tried to make a quick getaway.

Emphasis on quick.

“Hey, Winchester.”

On the other hand, high school was a lot like the TV shows with all the posturing. “What do you want?” Sam mumbled, getting ready to use his backpack as a weapon.

“We wanted to hang out. Y’know, practice a little hand to hand? How does that sound?”

Sam didn’t bother scowling, just hunched his shoulders up further and muttered, “no thanks.”

The blows came predictably.

Sam waited until they were gone to pick himself gingerly off the ground. Fighting back just meant they hit harder, so he had quickly learned to cower and duck away rather than try his own skills.

Sometimes, Sam hated Dean for being gone.

* * *

Mary frowned as Sam came in, scuffing dirt. “Sam? What on earth did you get into?”

Her youngest hid his eyes with his long hair. “Fell,” he mumbled.

“Go get cleaned up,” Mary sighed. “You need to get your grades up, remember?”

“My grades are fine,” Sam said defensively.

“Fine, but not as good as they could be. If you just applied yourself—” she started, but saw herself losing Sam. “Go wash up.”

“Yes ma’am.” Sam slouched his way upstairs and Mary rubbed at her forehead. If only Sam could be more like Dean. She hated herself for the thought a moment later, but it wouldn’t go away.

“Sweetie, you doing okay?”

Mary leaned back in John’s arms with a sigh. “Just having problems with Sam.”

He kissed her cheek gently. “You need me to talk to him?”

“Mm, no, it’s not anything talking will fix. I can’t seem to connect with him, John. If he keeps going down the way he’s going, he’ll never accomplish anything.”

“He could go into the Marines,” John suggested. Mary shuddered.

“Already have to worry about Dean, as if that’s not enough,” she berated her husband lightly. “Don’t even bring it up.”

“Fine. I’ve got to get the yard work done.”

“Thanks, babe.” Mary returned to her work with a sigh, not seeing the shadow in the hallway slip upstairs.

* * *

John cursed. Loudly.

“John?” Mary poked her head around the corner.

“Have you seen this?” John growled. He thrust the paper at her.

Mary sighed. “We’re gonna have to talk to him about this.”

“He gets any worse and he’ll be kicked out of school. We’re talking to him now.”

Mary tried to protest, but John was on a one track mission. He stormed upstairs, hammering on Sam’s door.

“Samuel! Get out here, right now!”

Sam opened the door, blank face staring at both of his parents. “Yes?”

“Care to explain this?” John asked, shaking the report sheet.

“It’s a piece of paper,” Sam said drily.

John saw red. He pushed forward, so that he was towering over Sam. “Your report card, smart aleck. Explain now.”

Sam took a step back. “Whatever. It’s just grades.”

John felt Mary lay a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Sam,” she said, voice a little more soothing than John knew his own would be, “we’re worried about you. Your grades will dictate your future, and I know you’re smart enough.”

Sam shrugged. “Whatever.”

“Oh, don’t you ‘whatever,’ your mother,” John snarled. “You are grounded for a week.”

“Fine,” Sam said. The lack of inflection told John that he’d judged poorly—Sam didn’t care about being grounded, since it wouldn’t interfere with any part of his life.

“And,” John tacked on for good measure, “you will do drills with me each morning before school.”

Finally, a flicker in Sam’s impassive face. His son said nothing, though, watching as his parents left the room. John made it downstairs with Mary before letting out a deep sigh.

“That boy,” he muttered.

“It’ll be okay, John,” Mary soothed. “It’s just a teenage funk.”

“Wish he would go about it the same way as Dean,” John said. “Sneaking out for a few beers and fooling around with girls I can deal with. This emo crap is beyond me.”

“Is the great John Winchester admitting defeat?” Mary teased.

John pretended to scowl. “Please. Nothing ever defeats me.”

“I know.” Mary kissed him. “It’s why I married you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Anticipation coiled in Sam’s gut like a nest of snakes. He moved restlessly, drawing his mother’s gaze.

“Fidgeting won’t make the plane any faster,” she remarked.

Sam pulled away from her gaze, shrugging the shoulders of his enormous hoodie. He watched the doorway, chest seizing up at each person who came through who wasn’t Dean.

“Oh, look, there—“

Sam didn’t hear the rest of what his mother said, because he had darted off through the crowd until he slammed into his brother.

“Whoa, easy there, tiger.”

Sam buried his face in Dean’s shoulder. “Hi, Dean.”

“Miss me?”

Sam felt a flush of embarrassment crawl up his cheeks and he took a step back. “You have more freckles,” he noted.

“Shut up, dude. You’re still short as ever.”

Sam punched him in the arm, feeling more muscle than had been there before.

“My baby’s grown so big,” Mary cooed.

“Mooom,” Dean protested, but Sam could see what a false veneer it was. He took a step back, allowing his parents to step in and embrace their better son.

“I’ll go get your bag,” Sam said. He slipped away, going over to the carousel and waiting silently along chattering families and seasoned travelers until Dean’s duffel came around. He rejoined his family, soaking in every word that fell from Dean’s mouth, as uncouth as it was—the army had done nothing to curb his foul mouth.

“How’s my favorite brother doing, huh?” Dean asked as they piled into the car. He drew Sam into a headlock.

“I’m your only brother,” Sam mumbled. He pretended to struggle against Dean’s grip.

“You need some meat on these bones, that’s for sure,” Dean said. He gripped Sam’s thin wrist. Sam tugged half-heartedly.

“Shut up. I haven’t had my growth spurt yet,” he claimed.

He looked up and saw Mary watching them. He pried himself free from Dean’s grasp, sitting back and staring out the window. Dean tried to draw him out, but gave up after Sam supplied only monosyllable responses.

“Please tell me you killed the fatted calf,” Dean said as they entered the house.

“If by fatted calf you mean I made steak, then yes,” Mary replied.

Dean whooped. “Well, I’ll grab a shower first.”

Sam slipped away to his room. Dean was home. Everything would be fine.

* * *

Dean kicked his heels up on the table, only to have them slapped down again.

“Just because you’re all trained up as a big bad marine, does not mean you get to break the rules,” Mary remonstrated.

“Alright, alright.” Dean leaned back. “Where’d Sam go?”

“He stays in his room, mostly,” John said. His jaw tightened as it always did when Sam came up, these days. “Doesn’t say much, either.”

Dean frowned. “I mean, sure, he’s a quiet kid . . .”

“This is beyond that,” Mary said softly. She saw Dean deflate at her confirmation—they both knew that John and Sam had a tendency to butt heads, but when it went beyond that . . .

“What’s going on?”

“He’s shut himself off. Grades are dropping, and he doesn’t seem to care,” Mary reported.

Dean sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees. “What’s going on at school?”

Mary and John sighed simultaneously. “He won’t say, his teachers don’t have a clue . . . honestly, Dean, without you to translate here, we’re floundering,” Mary said.

“Well.” Dean stood up. “Guess that’s my cue.”

* * *

“Yo, Sammy, what’s up?”

Dean opened the door to Sam’s room. The walls were mostly bare, Sam’s old Star Wars posters and superhero collections gone.

Sam raised his head, looking at Dean. “What are you doing in here?”

“I come home after six months and that’s all you can say?” Dean asked, pretending to be offended. Sam’s face flickered at his words, and his little brother sat up.

“I was lying here. Thought you wanted to catch up with Mom and Dad.”

“Sure, but adults can get pretty stuffy, you know.” Dean flopped down next to Sam. “When I’ve called, you said you were fine. Were you being legit?”

“Ah. I see they want you to talk to me.” Sam’s voice had gone cold. Dean turned onto his side.

“Don’t be like that, Sam. They’re just worried about you. I am too.”

“Whatever, dude.”

Dean flicked Sam in the ear. Sam yelped and glared at him—at least he was meeting his gaze now.

“What happened to Sam and Dean against the world?” he prompted gently. It was small enough he nearly missed it—Sam’s bottom lip trembled before he hid his face in the pillow.

“It’s not, though,” was his brother’s response.

“Sure it is.”

There was hectic color in Sam’s cheeks when he lifted his head to scowl at Dean. “No, it isn’t. You’re gone, now, so you don’t get to pretend like nothing’s changed.”

“Alright,” Dean soothed, “I get that, but that’s no reason to go and let your grades slide or anything.”

“It’s just grades,” Sam mumbled. He stared up at the ceiling like it could give him an answer.

Frustration welled up inside Dean. “C’mon, bro, gimme something here. It was never ‘just’ grades to you, and we both know that.”

“Drop it.”

Dean fell silent. Something ached deep inside him. He didn’t give Sam any warning before looping an arm around him and pulling him close.

“Dean.” Sam squirmed, pushing at Dean’s arm. “Stop it.”

“Nope.” Eventually his brother stopped trying to escape. Dean felt himself relaxing, almost falling asleep.

“I miss you.” Sam’s whisper almost wasn’t meant for Dean’s ears. Dean didn’t move except for to tuck Sam further under his chin.

* * *

“You’re trash, Winchester.”

Sam blocked the blow headed for his face. “Not the face, unless you want my parents poking around,” he hissed.

“Is that a threat?” A strong hand gripped his throat, shoving him against the wall.

“You aren’t important enough to threaten,” Sam said.

For his trouble, he was punched in the gut.

He was dropped. The guy spit on him. Dazed, Sam listened as the bell went off. He was going to be late. Again.

When Dean was gone, Sam lived in continual fear. Fear of what, he didn’t know. Maybe it was conditioned in him from growing up with Dean continually watching out for him, and Dean’s absence had triggered it, but Sam could never shake the feeling of some malevolent presence. Other parts of life—school, friends, family—all seemed to fall by the wayside in the face of that fear. Sam would face down every bully in the world if he could get rid of it.

“Winchester, that’s your third tardy. You’ll be coming in on Saturday.”

“Yessir,” Sam mumbled. He slouched into his chair. Mr. Phillips began his lecture on WWII. All Sam could picture was Dean being shot down, just like in his nightmares.

* * *

John looked out the door. For a moment, he let himself linger, breathing in the night air. He shut the door firmly, locking it. He made his way upstairs, all too ready to pass out in preparation for the next slew of idiotic clients with busted up cars. Hopefully Mary wasn’t feeling too frisky.

Just as he passed Sam’s door, John heard a whimper. Frowning, he backtracked, opening the door and peering into the dark room.

Sam was on his back. As John watched, he twisted, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead.

“No, no, no,” he mumbled.

Unnerved, John thought about backing out of the room and fetching Mary, but he managed to gather himself together. He approached the bed, hesitating for a moment before leaning over.

“Sam, wake up.”

Sam shot up with a scream that sent John back onto his rear. He gaped at Sam. His son’s wild gaze met his, but instead of calming down, Sam freaked, tearing out of his bed and out the door of his room.

“Sam!”

John scrambled after him.

“John, wha—“

John followed Sam down the stairs, catching sight of Sam unlocking the front door and running out into the night.

“Get the car!” he called over his shoulder to Mary. Then he focused on putting all of his energy into the pumping of his legs.

To his surprise, Sam far outpaced him. John kept up a steady sprint for as long as he was able before Sam gained too much ground, darting through their sleepy neighborhood like wolves were nipping his heels.

“Get in!” Mary shouted.

The Impala barely slowed down enough to let John get in before Mary gunned it.

“What happened?” she asked, even as her focused completely on the road.

“He was having a nightmare. Tried to wake him up, and he ran,” John panted.

The dark figure they were following went to the side, in-between the houses. Mary cursed, pulling a U-turn and speeding down a different street. “We’ll get him,” John said.


	3. Chapter 3

She wanted to hit him and kiss him.

“Sammy, my baby.” She gathered him into her arms, pressing him close like it could make up for the last two weeks. He was filthy and bony. Had he managed to eat?

“Ma’am, do you want us to—“

“We’re fine,” she said to the police man. “Thank you for finding him.”

“Sure thing.” The cop scratched at his ear. “Y’all have some paperwork to do before you head home, but we’ll be right through here.”

“I’ll take care of it,” John said. The ice in his voice made Mary cringe. Her husband didn’t forgive easily, and after this, who knew how his relationship with Sam would suffer.

“Are you all right, are you hurt?” she demanded.

“Fine,” Sam said dully.

Mary tilted his chin up, staring into his opaque gaze. “Sammy,” she whispered. “Do you hate me?”

That got a flash of emotion. Sam’s eyes closed, and he shook his head. “No,” he whispered.

“Then why?” she begged, “why did you run?”

“I—I had to.”

“Why did you have to?” she asked softly.

Sam bit his lip, and Mary waited with baited breath.

“We can leave.” John, impenetrable, looked dispassionately at Sam. Mary swallowed her disappointment, and tugged Sam along.

* * *

“Saw you on the news, Winchester.”

“Life too much for you, wanna run away again?”

“Hey, runaway!”

Sam dodged the comments like they were bullets, settling into the corner where he belonged. A headache was brewing, and he pinched his nose wearily. There was not a moment in his life where he was not under surveillance, whether it be by teachers or his parents.

Running away had been dumb. But his nightmare had been so awful, so real . . . in some ways it made more sense to hide in alleyways and snatch food from dumpsters than go back home. At least that way he hadn’t been able to dream of his parents burning and look up to see their faces hovering above him, knowing it was his fault.

“Sam Winchester to the office. Sam Winchester to the office.”

Sam ignored the jeers of his classmates as the intercom blared out his name. He silently gathered up his bag and made his way to the front of the school.

“Surprise!”

Sam dropped his bag and launched himself at Dean. “What are you doing here?” he asked. His voice was muffled in the heavy material of Dean’s uniform.

“Bit of a change in plans,” Dean said, too lightly. Sam’s warning bells went off. He took a step back, staring at Dean.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll explain at home.”

* * *

“It’s just a year, Sam.”

Sam scowled at the ground. “A year is a long time.”

Dean sighed, scooting closer to settle his shoulder against Sam’s. “You’ll be driving when I get back from my tour. Think Mom’ll let you drive her baby?”

Sam was not drawn out of his funk, to Dean’s dismay. “You could die,” he said bluntly. “You could die, Dean. And I wouldn’t even know. What about that?”

Dean reached up to muss Sam’s hair. “Hey. Don’t be a fatalist, okay? Don’t you know how good I am? You should see me with an AK-47. Nothing can kill me. I’m Batman.”

Sam bit his lip, a sure sign that he wanted to cry, and Dean gave into his big brother instincts, slinging an arm around Sam’s still-bony shoulders. Dean had seen the bruises, and was pretty sure Sam was lying when he muttered stuff about playing soccer while Dean had been in training. There were also those unaccounted weeks Mary and John had told him about.

“Don’t die, okay?” Sam whispered, fingers curling into Dean’s collar. “Please, don’t die.”

“I won’t,” Dean promised quietly. “Promise.”

* * *

All his dreams started the same. Walking down the hall, the smell of something burning.

His parents, burning on the ceiling.

Sam shot up in bed and tried to take a deep breath to calm down. Instead he choked on smoke.

“Mom! Dad!” He fell out of bed, coughing as he darted out into the hall. Upon entering, he screamed. Mary and John were splayed out across the ceiling, red dripping from their bellies. Sam leapt up onto their bed, reaching up. The heat made him flinch, but Sam pushed past it, grabbing at his parents’ shoulders. He tugged, but they didn’t move.

“Kid!”

Someone grabbed him around the waist. Sam struggled, reaching out for his mom and dad as he was thrown over a hardened shoulder.

“No, no!” he wailed.

When the person set him down, Sam struggled to his feet, ready to push back in, until calloused hands gripped his face.

“Kid, they’re gone. Look at me.”

Solemn dark eyes met his. “No, I can save them, I can,” Sam cried.

“They’re gone,” the man repeated. “I’m sorry.”

Sam shuddered. “Who are you? Did you . . . did you do this?”

The man shook his head. “Something dark and evil.”

“But—“

Sirens wailed. The man stood. “They’ll ask too many questions. I have to go.”

“I’m coming with you,” Sam declared.

“No, kid, you have to—“

“I’ll tell them about you, and I know your license plate number,” he said.

The man shook his head. “This is gonna be a big mistake,” he muttered.

When the fire department arrived, it was only to find a smoldering house.

* * *

After they made it into the motel room, Jim focused on taking care of the traumatized kid. A quick shower (avoiding his arms) to rinse the smell of smoke away, salve, and then bandages for the worst of the burns.

“Need any more pain killers?”

The kid shook his head, shaggy dark hair falling across his eyes.

“What happened?” he whispered.

“What’s your name?” Jim ignored his question.

“S-sam.”

“Howdy, Sam, I’m Jim.” He dropped down onto the edge of the bed and nodded to the couch by the window. “You can sit down if you like.”

“What happened?” Sam repeated after sitting.

Jim rubbed his hand over his face. “I wish I knew,” he sighed, “but I can only tell you that something evil was targeting your house. Got word from a psychic I know who said something, maybe a demon, was getting close. I came too late. I am sorry for that.”

He watched the kid closely. The boy seemed shocked, but not as shocked as some victims were.

“Is that why . . . is that why I had the dreams?” he whispered.

“What dreams?” Jim asked.

Haunted hazel eyes met his. “Dreams of Mom and Dad burning,” he said, “on the ceiling.”

Jim didn’t let his surprise come through. “I don’t know about that,” he said calmly. “I’ll have to look into it.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Jim glanced at the clock, grimacing when he saw it was three in the morning.

“Why don’t you sleep?” he suggested. “We’ll talk in the morning. You can take the bed.”

There was something wary about the way Sam got onto the bed. Jim eased himself into the bathroom, eager to get rid of the soot on his own body. There was no victory in tonight’s hunt.

* * *

Sam felt like he was going to shake out of his skin. A million thoughts buzzed through his mind, but he was unable to capture a single one. The man who had saved him was asleep on the couch.

“Mr. Jim,” Sam whispered before he could think better of it.

There was a grunt and shifting sound from the couch. “Wha’sat,”

Sam bit his lip, not even sure what he needed to say or how to say it.

“Kid?” The man got up. He was slow and deliberate in moving to the bed to keep Sam from freaking out, which Sam appreciated.

“I c-can’t stop shaking,” Sam said.

Jim sat down on the edge of the bed. A warm palm settled on his shoulder. “Easy, Sam.”

Sam was fifteen and a half, far too old to cry, but suddenly he was sobbing like a baby, stomach hurting with how hard he was crying.

Jim drew him up and pressed Sam’s snotty face into his shoulder. “Easy, kid, let it out,” he crooned.

Everything hurt too much, and Sam lost himself in it all. It was only when he heard Jim saying “no, no,” that he realized he was talking, saying “I killed them, I killed them,” over and over.

“Sam, snap out of it.” Jim shook him, hard. “Look at me.”

Through blurry eyes, Sam stared at the man.

“You didn’t kill them,” he said firmly. “And we’ll figure this out. I promise.”

Sam pulled himself together and nodded. He nearly lost it again when Jim gently brushed his hair away from his face, just the way his mom used to.


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real until Dean was standing in front of the blackened ruins of their house. An awful moan fell from his mouth, and Dean fell to his knees.

“Easy, man,” Jake said. He supported Dean’s shoulder, keeping him from falling over onto the grass. “Easy.”

Dean focused on sucking in air. His chest hurt.

“I need to—I need to see their graves,” he rasped.

“Alright, whatever you need.” His friend’s eyes were worried, but Jake remained steady, hauling him to his feet and setting him back towards the rental car. Where was the Impala? “We’ll figure all this out.”

There were two gravestones. One for his parents and one for Sammy. Dean said something to Jake—he wasn’t sure what—but along the lines of leaving him for a moment. He sank down onto the cold earth, staring at the gravestones. They had told him there was a fire. They had told him that the few remains they had found were buried here.

They hadn’t told him whether his family had died screaming, but it was all Dean heard every time he closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he choked. “Mom, Dad . . . Sammy. I should’ve been here. I, I just hope you’re at peace.”

If only Dean could be at peace.

* * *

Sam panted into the dirt, his body groaning as he struggled to stand.

“Again,” Jim demanded.

Sam pushed himself to his feet with scarred hands, settling into his sparring stance. He charged Jim, only to be parried and jabbed in the solar plexus.

“You can’t throw yourself at every threat with such abandon, Sam,” Jim said. “You do that and you’re signing up to be skewered. How will you become a hunter then?”

Sam lashed out, catching Jim with a knee to the gut. The preacher staggered back before straightening with a grin.

“Touché,” he said mildly. “I think we’ll call it a day, then. Have you finished your homework?”

Sam shook his head. Jim sternly pointed to the house and Sam slunk inside, settling down unwillingly at his desk. Part of the deal he had made with Jim was that he would get good grades, graduate, and only then would he be allowed to hunt. In the meantime, he trained and researched.

“I’m making macaroni and cheese for dinner, is that alright?” Jim asked.

“And hotdogs?” Sam asked.

Jim made a face. “Hotdogs in the macaroni?”

Sam nodded, using his hair to hide his eyes from Jim’s view. His gut clenched. He needed to practice more control if Dean’s favorite meal could still send him into a tailspin. He had to remind himself it was better, for the millionth time. Dean was safe. He would never know Sam got their parents killed. He would grieve and move on. Dean was safe.

* * *

“Pastor Jim, may I talk to you for a moment?”

Mike tried to keep his tone calm, but it wasn’t easy with that freak kid staring at him from the pew behind the preacher.

“Of course, Mike, how are you?”

“Fine, Pastor. I just wanted to speak to you concerning your new . . . situation.”

“About Sam?” Jim wasn’t half quiet enough. Mike scowled a little, eyes darting over to the boy. Instead of backing down like Mike expected, the kid met him head on, gaze unwavering. Mike looked away.

“Some of us at the church are concerned about this change, and who the kid is,” he muttered, feeling guilty though he didn’t know why.

“I adopted Sam. He was in a bit of a pickle and God told me to intervene. Is there a problem with that?” Jim asked gently.

Mike shifted. “No, Pastor.”

“Alright, then. Is there something else?”

Mike shook his head. As he turned to leave, he saw the kid lean over the back of pew in front of him, resting scarred hands on the old wood.

“Bit of a pickle? Really?”

There was a wry sarcasm that was beyond his years. Mike retreated swiftly, sliding into his pew and shrugging at his wife. Pastor would do what he wanted. Mike only hoped the adopted kid wasn’t the homicidal type. Jim Murphy had nice short sermons, and a real strength behind his convictions. They’d hate to lose him.

* * *

Dean fired six shots in succession from his revolver. They were unerringly on target.

“Yo, Dean.” A hand came down on his shoulder, and Dean nearly reacted by punching the speaker.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” he growled, pulling off his ear protection. “What?”

Jake let his hand drop. “Me and the guys are going out for drinks. Wanna come?”

Dean shook his head. “I’m good.”

“Dean—“ Jake ran a hand over his shaved head. “Look, I get that you’re in a bad place, but the longer you lock yourself away, the harder it’s gonna be.”

“Thanks for the pep talk.” Dean put down the gun. “But I’m fine.”

“No,” Jake said, dark eyes narrowing. “You don’t get out of it that easy. You lost your family, and it’s ripping you apart. But we’re here for you, Dean.”

Dean swallowed. “I get that,” he said roughly. “I just need time.”

“Okay.” Jake clapped him on the back. “Next time you cannot say no.”

He managed to twitch up his lips in to some kind of smile. “It’s a deal,” he said.

* * *

“This doesn’t renege our deal,” Jim warned him. “I just really need help on this.”

“I know, I know. I’ll graduate, promise.” Sam pulled out the canister of salt, tucking it into his duffel. “It’s just a ghost hunt, anyway.”

“Take all hunts seriously,” Jim said sternly. He pulled out the shotguns, passing one to Sam.

“Yeah, I am.”

Jim looked at him sharply. “You promise me you’ll keep your head and be careful.”

“Yessir.”

He watched his charge carefully, but Sam seemed nothing but confident in loading his weapon.

Jim loaded his own shotgun, sliding extra rounds into his coat pocket. As one, he and Sam slammed the trunk of Jim’s station wagon and headed out into the dark of the graveyard.

“Have you ever been caught digging up a grave?” Sam asked.

Jim snorted. “Once. I had to pretend the grave was one of my congregation, and the wife had asked me to come out and leave his watch in the grave. Lost a good watch that day.”

Sam rarely laughed, so it was a welcome moment when he did. “And they bought that?” he asked incredulously.

“What, I’m not trustworthy?” Jim smiled, shoving Sam lightly on the shoulder.

“There’s the grave.”

“Good eye.” They approached it. “Let’s dig.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Hey, ugly!” Sam threw his silver knife straight at the werewolf. It sank into the creature’s shoulder, but didn’t do any real damage. Sam took a step back as it turned towards him. At least it was ignoring Jim, now.

“Yeah, you, you gonna pick on an old man?”

Sam didn’t wait to see if he would follow, spinning on his heel and darting through the snow-laden forest. He thought Jim yelled something, but couldn’t hear what he said over the blood rushing through his ears and the loud panting of the werewolf behind him.

A low growl told Sam he was about to be run down—with a quick spin, he switched directions, circling back towards Jim. The werewolf snarled in frustration. He was still too close, though. Sam’s lungs burned from the cold air as he re-entered the clearing with Jim.

“Duck!” Jim bellowed.

Sam hit the ground, tensing as the werewolf reared above him.

Three shots rang out. Sam rolled to the side as the werewolf toppled over. The dark eyes of the creature dulled in death.

“What were you thinking, you idiot?” Jim stomped over, fury etched on his face. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

Still catching his breath, Sam panted, “I was thinking your parishioners wouldn’t like it if their pastor was killed.”

Jim tugged him to his feet, scowling at him. “Don’t joke about this, Sam. You could’ve died. Don’t risk yourself for me like that. Promise me.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m not promising anything.”

Jim grabbed his arms. “Sam—“

“No, Jim! I can’t—“ Sam swallowed, ducking his head. “I can’t lose you, too.”

For once, Jim was silent. His grip tightened for a moment, and then relaxed. “All right,” he said roughly. “But it goes both ways. I don’t want your death on my head.”

“We’ll just both have to stay alive, then,” Sam said.

Jim barked out a laugh and ruffled his hair. “Sounds like a plan.”

* * *

Dean had anticipated getting privacy as he visited his family’s graves on the anniversary of their deaths. The skinny guy in a hoodie standing nearby put a damper on that.

“What are you doing?” he asked abruptly. “Waiting here for your drug dealer or something?”

The guy started, ducking his head so his hood kept his face in shadow. He didn’t say anything, and Dean felt his hackles rise.

“Get out of here,” he said.

“Sorry,” he said, and then he was gone.

Dean shook his head, looking over at the graves. There was a fresh bouquet of obviously hand-picked daisies next to Mary and John’s gravestone. Something made Dean’s mind itch—he stared blankly at the flowers. Why would a stranger bring flowers?

And his voice . . .

Dean whirled, staring around the empty graveyard. He sprinted towards the exit, finding only the Impala. There had been a beat-up station wagon there when he first arrived. Dean pressed his palms against his eyes. License plate had been . . . blue. Maybe Minnesota? Last three digits had been 278 or 287.

He didn’t dare to hope. But the “sorry,” lingered in his ears, and Dean could’ve sworn it was Sam’s voice.

* * *

“Jim, Jim,” Sam moaned.

“Sam? What is it?”

He reached out blindly, and Jim took his hand, kneeling down next to him. He watched worriedly as Sam clutched at his head with his other hand, pain written on every line of his face.

“He’s trapped, dying. Someone needs to . . . no, no.” Sam’s eyes shot open and he stared blankly at Jim.

“Sam, what was that?”

“It was like a dream, but . . .”

“A prophetic dream,” Jim whispered.

Sam looked devastated as he nodded. “I have a license plate.”

“Let’s go.”

* * *

Dean’s hand was trembling as he lifted it to knock. The door was painted a solid red. Jim Murphy, whoever he was, wasn’t home, though. Dean knocked for at least a couple minutes. Dean sighed, letting his hand drop and turning away. He had already been to four different places in Minnesota, and his leave was up in a week. He turned away, going back to his mom’s—his—car. Dean let one hand trail across the hood, cringing at the grit on his fingertips. Mom would’ve killed him for letting her baby get so dirty.

“You looking for Pastor Jim?”

Dean blinked, taking in the janitor sitting on the church steps. The church was actually attached to the man’s house . . . right, Jim Murphy was some kind of preacher. “Yeah,” he said. “Is he in there?”

“Nah, Jim does a lot of traveling. He’ll be back for Sunday though, that’s for sure.”

Dean nodded. “Thanks.” He hesitated, turning back and walking up to the woman. Her wrinkled face smiled at him congenially.

“What else can I help you with?” she asked.

“Does Jim Murphy live here alone?” he ventured.

She shook her gray head. “Godson lives with him,” she said. “Strange boy.”

Heart in his throat, Dean managed, “godson?”

“Came to live with him ‘bout a year ago. You know the kid?”

“Maybe,” Dean said cagily. “I’ll check back later.”

“Sure thing.”

* * *

“We pray in these times of uncertainty and pain that you give us guidance and your wisdom. We fight against the darkness, Lord, in your name, but let not the evil inside of us overcome us. Your will be done. Amen.”

“Amen,” Sam murmured. He picked up his fork.

“I’m proud of you,” Jim said, apropos of nothing.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Uh, thanks?”

Jim put his elbows up on the table, resting his chin on his hands. “I’m serious, Sam. A lot of other kids would have broken under everything that’s happened. But you’re still here, you’re still fighting. I just want you to know that I’m proud of you.”

Sam flushed. “Thanks.”

Jim nodded. “The way you handled Max was incredible, Sam. With God’s grace, that poor kid might have a chance at a new life.”

Sam grimaced. “A new life in juvenile detention?”

Jim shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. But we’ve done all we can.”

Sam smiled at him shyly. “Let God take care of the rest?”

Jim’s smile was the proud approval Sam had never gotten from his parents. Both of them looked up at a knock on the door, hands automatically going to their guns.

“I’ll get it,” Jim said.

* * *

Dean forced a smile at the guy who took his younger brother away from him. “Hi,” he said, voice full of false cheer. “I’m here to see Sam.”

“Sure. You know him from school?” Jim Murphy asked.

Dean nodded.

“Sam, someone for you,” the preacher man called.

Dean’s knees felt weak. Sam froze in the hallway when he caught sight of Dean.

“Sammy,” Dean whispered.

Sam was off like a shot, and Dean after him. He barely heard Murphy’s ‘hey!’ as he tore through the man’s house after his little brother. He caught up to Sam in a back room, working on opening a window.

“Sam,” he gasped. “Stop.”

If anything, Sam became more frantic, shoving the window up until Dean was forced to wrap him in a bear hug. Sam’s lithe body twisted in his grasp, throwing elbows. Both of them toppled over, grunting at the impact with the floor.

“What is going on?” Murphy bellowed. Dean noticed in shock that he had a handgun in his hand, and quickly moved to block Sam from the gun. “Sam?”

Sam stopped struggling in Dean’s grip, going limp.

“Yeah, Jim,” he said quietly. “It’s alright.”

“You say the word and I’ll beat him up,” Murphy threatened. Dean raised an eyebrow.

“No, it’s fine. This . . . this is my brother, Dean.”


	6. Chapter 6

Jim poured out three cups of coffee. He’d heard somewhere about coffee stunting growth, but Sam was already pushing past six feet, so he figured it wouldn’t hurt. Plus, all of them desperately needed the caffeine fix right now.

“Sam, let me get this straight,” he said. “You had a brother all this time?”

Sam nodded. He hadn’t lifted his head from when he first sat down on the couch. Next to him, his brother’s eyes kept flitting from Jim to Sam and back again.

“How’d he end up with you?” Dean asked roughly. His eyes narrowed at Jim. “You always hover around like a vulture and pick up orphans?”

“Dean,” Sam growled, “it wasn’t like that. He saved me from the fire.”

“And then whisked you away to Minnesota.” Dean’s expression had softened a little when he heard Sam’s defense, but there was a wariness underlying every line on his face.

“Sam,” Jim asked gently. “Why didn’t you tell me you had family?”

Sam finally met his gaze. “I thought it would be . . . easier for Dean to have a fresh start,” he said. There was something cautious in his eyes—a warning for Jim to keep things under tabs.

“Easier?” Dean broke in. “Sam, I had to stand in front of our burned down house, thinking you were dead. How is that easier, huh?”

“I thought—“

“Yeah, you thought,” Dean snarled. “You had no right!” He had Sam by the collar of his shirt. Jim didn’t interfere, but he kept himself poised just in case.

“Dean—“

“You had no right! You were dead! You were dead!”

Dean suddenly pulled Sam in tight, burying his face in his shoulder. “You were dead,” he whispered.

Jim got up and quietly left the room. This was between the two brothers.

* * *

It was nearly midnight by the time Sam made it to Jim’s room. He was sitting at his desk, reading through his Bible.

“Jim?” Sam interrupted. “Can I talk to you?”

“Is Dean alright?”

Sam nodded. “Fell asleep on the couch,” he said. “I, um, didn’t tell him anything about the supernatural.”

“Is that the way you want this to go?” Jim asked.

“Yeah.” Sam sank down on the end of Jim’s bed. “That’s . . . that’s part of the reason why I didn’t tell you about him in the first place.”

Jim got up, going over to sit next to Sam. “And the other?”

“The demon wants me,” Sam whispered. “And it could kill Dean.”

“Sam, you need to be honest with me.”

Sam frowned, looking at his mentor. “I am.”

Jim called him out on the lie. “You still think it’s your fault. And you think Dean will blame you for your parents’ death.”

Sam’s heart clenched in his chest. He dropped his head. “They always loved him most, and I—I don’t want him to hate me. Better he think I were dead than that.”

Jim wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “There’s only so many ways I can tell you that it wasn’t your fault,” he murmured, “but that’s something you’ll have to come to terms with on your own. Keep praying about it, alright?”

“Yessir.”

* * *

Jake leaned back against the wall. “Crazy, bro.”

Dean snorted. “You’re telling me.”

He tilted his head, looking at Dean. “But it’s good news, right? I mean, the kid’s alive, that’s something.”

Dean rubbed his eyes. “It’s everything to me. But I have so many questions now, and Sammy’s as tight-lipped as ever.”

“That takes tight-lipped to a whole ‘nother level,” Jake noted. “The kid didn’t tell you he was even alive.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Jake had never seen Dean look so torn. Even so, he was less defeated, which, from the past months, was a huge change for Dean.

“Either way, what are you going to do?”

Dean grimaced. “I’m tied to the Marines, now, can’t just go AWOL, as much as I’d like to. And Sammy . . . I mean, he’s obviously screwed up, but somehow he’s carving out a life for himself with this old pastor. To be perfectly honest, he seems better than when he was with Mom and Dad, as awful as it sounds.”

Jake hesitated before taking the plunge. “Not that it’s any of my business, but with how secretive he’s been . . . do you think he might have something to do with the fire?”

Dean’s head snapped up, green eyes pinning Jake down. “Are you saying—“

Jake shrugged, twisting his fingers together. “Look man, like I said, it’s not my business. Friggin’ suspicious, though, y’know? And with how you said he was before the fire . . .”

“No, Sam wouldn’t . . . No,” Dean said firmly. “Kid’s a little screwed up, but I know him, and he wouldn’t do that.”

“How ‘bout next leave I go with you?” Jake suggested. “Fresh set of eyes and all.”

Dean relaxed, grinning at Jake. “Man with the plan.”

“Hell yeah.”

* * *

Sam let his scarred fingers trace over the words. If he believed in them enough, would they become true.

“Sam? What are you doing sitting in the dark?”

“Pastor Jim.” Sam’s voice had started getting deeper, but it still cracked and made him sound like a child sometimes. “I have a question.”

“Sure.”

“Then afterward I will pour out my spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions,” Sam quoted. “Joel 2:28.”

“What of it?” Jim asked.

“The passage is followed by talk of the end of days. If I . . . am I the latter part of that prophecy?”

“We have no way of knowing for sure, Sam,” Jim said. “Maybe your power is related, maybe it isn’t.”

“I hope it is. Because the Bible talks a lot about false prophets,” Sam said quietly. “And I would give anything not to be one of those. And if my powers are demonic . . .”

Jim’s hand settled comfortingly on his shoulder. “No matter where your visions come from, Sam, it doesn’t matter. If you follow God’s will, and use your visions for His glory, then you are on the right path.”

Sam nodded.

“Now, unless I’m mistaken, it’s about time for that brother of yours to call. You know what he did the last time you missed your weekly session.”

Sam groaned. Somehow in the week Dean had been there, he had managed to charm all of their surrounding neighbors. Those neighbors had gotten a call, and when Jim and Sam had gotten back from their hunt, they had found said neighbors making a huge fuss. It had taken a _long_ phone call with Dean to get him to calm down.


	7. Chapter 7

From the moment Jim had met Sam, the kid had been full of frenetic energy waiting to be unleashed, whether that be during a hunt, against some bully at school, or against himself.

Seeing Sam lying so still . . . it was just wrong.

Dean careened into the room, and Jim shored up his defenses.

“What the hell happened?” he snarled.

“Please calm yourself, Dean,” Jim said. “Sam needs his rest.”

Dean drew himself up, made even more intimidating by his uniform. “Calm? How can I be calm? How could you let this happen?”

Guilt was solid in Jim’s gut. “Accidents happen,” he said woodenly.

There was fury in Dean’s green eyes, but a sharp inhalation from the hospital bed drew his attention, and he leaned over Sam intently.

“Sammy? Open those eyes for me, kiddo.”

Jim took a step forward as Sam responded to his brother’s voice, groaning a little.

“Sam?” Jim said, ignoring Dean’s glare. “Can you speak?”

“Mmm. ‘spital?”

“Yeah. You’re safe now.”

Without any warning, Dean turned on Jim, grabbing his collar and slamming him into the wall by Sam’s bed.

“He should have been safe before,” he snarled. “How did Sam end up nearly eviscerated?”

“Dean,” Sam whispered. Jim waited silently as Dean’s fist relaxed a little on his collar. “Don’t. Wasn’t his fault.”

“He’s supposed to be watching out for you, so yeah, it kinda was,” Dean countered.

Sam’s head rolled across the pillow, eyes slitting open to look at the two of him. Jim gently displaced Dean’s grip, stepping towards the bed and resting his palm on Sam’s forehead. “Don’t worry about us, Sam. Focus on healing.”

* * *

Dean had never punched a man of God before. But he was seriously considering it.

“You owe me an explanation,” he hissed, pulling Jim out into the hall of the hospital.

“Dean, I know you’re upset, but Sam’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah, no thanks to you. How did a wild animal get to him?”

“We were hiking,” Jim explained, “and a mountain lion attacked us.”

Dean searched his face for a lie, but the man’s face was infuriatingly calm.

“Well if you can’t take care of him on something like this, then maybe I should take custody of Sam,” he challenged.

Finally, Jim’s expression flickered. “You can’t do that.”

“Can’t I?” Dean sneered. “Sam’s still a minor, and I’m his living relative. Whatever paperwork you rustled up when you found him after the fire, it won’t hold up in court.”

Jim’s eyes flashed, and he took a step towards Dean. “You wouldn’t dare to put Sam through that,” he growled. “And you don’t even know what you’d do with him, do you? Are you going to force him into the military with you? Leave him alone whenever you’re on tour?”

Dean bristled. “I’d figure something out.”

Jim crossed his arms. “You want to take Sam away from me? See what he has to say.”

Dean turned away from the man, feeling discomfited and unable to come up with any defense. The worst part was that Jim was right—Dean had only managed to beg a few days leave because they happened to be only doing drills that week—he had to be back in 48 hours.

A nurse came out of Sam’s room. “He’s asking for both of you,” she said.

* * *

On the eve of Sam’s sixteenth birthday, he dreamed of Dean’s head being blown off—not even in a battle, but a stupid training drill.

His desperate phone call to Dean was laughed off with platitudes; his older brother assumed he was just nervous and overwrought after his recent injuries.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Jim.” Sam shook him awake. “Vision. We need to get to Dean.”

Jim didn’t argue, simply bought the tickets for the red eye and packed his bag. Only once they were in the half-empty plane did he turn to Sam expectantly.

Sam swallowed back the saliva that coated his mouth at the memory. “There are two of them laughing with Dean. They’re practicing shooting. One of them trips, and shoots Dean.”

Jim’s hand settled comfortingly on his shoulder. “We’ll make it. You’ve changed outcomes before. We’ll make this right.”

Sam nodded, focusing on breathing shallowly so his stitches didn’t pull. They would make it in time.

It took some pretty smooth haggling at the base’s entrance with their fake IDs, but as Jim liked to say, being a preacher had more perks than getting to pray out loud without getting weird looks.

“Do you think he’s there right now?”

Sam glanced at the buildings’ shadows. “Yes. We need to hurry.”

By the time they located the shooting range, Sam was sweating through his shirt. The sight of Dean with the two from his vision kicked his heart beat up.

They were all wearing ear protection, and Sam’s shouts went unnoticed. He charged forward, watching the red haired guy from his vision stumble on a spent shell. Sam slammed into Dean bodily. The shot whistled past his ear. They hit the ground, and Sam frantically looked for a wound on Dean but found nothing.

“Sam?” Dean’s eyes were wide. “What the—“

The red haired guy cursed. “I nearly shot you! Who is this kid?”

“Wait, I recognize him. Dean, is this your brother?”

Sam shuddered at the third guy’s voice, something inside him recognizing it. He looked up, meeting the man’s gaze. He didn’t know how he knew it, but whoever he was . . . he was special. Like Sam.

* * *

“So what you’re saying is, you just so happened to visit Dean when he was nearly shot in the head by idiot over there?” Jake asked suspiciously.

“Hey!” Nate spoke up. “It was an accident.”

“You had your finger on the trigger and you weren’t set to shoot the target,” Jake said coolly. “Idiot is about right.”

Dean’s kid brother took another step backwards so he was half-hiding behind the priest-dude who had come along with him.

“Sam and I had planned this visit. It was by God’s grace we came upon the three of you when we did,” the older man said solemnly.

“Right,” Jake said. He glanced at Dean, seeing his friend staring at Sam. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Sam. Last time I was at your grave.”

The kid squirmed, which was mildly gratifying. Jake didn’t know what had possessed Dean’s brother to hide the way he had, but Jake hadn’t forgiven him for putting Dean through that.

“Uh, hi,” he said faintly. “Um, how is your family?”

Jake forced himself to keep a straight face. Dean had not mentioned how weird his little brother was. “I’m sure they’re fine. Mom’s keeping my sisters in check, as always.”

“And your father?”

Jake stiffened, glaring. “He’s dead,” he said sharply. “And that’s none of your business.”

“Dude, chill,” Dean intervened. “Sam, let me wrap some things up for the day, and I’ll meet up with you.”

“Dean,” Jake pulled him aside as soon as the brother and preacher were gone, “you can’t tell me something funky isn’t going on.”

“I’ll get back to you on that,” Dean said. His features were twisted with uncertainty. “You take care of clumsy over here.”

“Hey!” Nate objected.

“Shut up, idiot,” Jake said without looking at him.

* * *

“I think you owe me an explanation.” Dean hated the way Sam shrank away from him and towards Jim.

“I, uh, I really wanted to visit,” he said.

“Not good enough.” Dean crossed his arms. “Try again.”

“Sam, I think Dean deserves the truth,” Jim said softly. Dean glared at him for his interruption. It wasn’t like the guy had any right to—

“I have visions.”

Dean blinked, arms dropping. “Come again?”

Sam seemed to mentally fortify himself, straightening his back and staring Dean in the eye. “I get supernatural visions. I saw one of you getting shot, and when you didn’t listen to me on the phone, I had to come and save you.”

Dean opened his mouth. Closed it. Stared between Jim and Sam, who were both infuriatingly calm.

“Say that again?” Dean asked weakly.

“Four months ago Sam had a vision of a young man killing his stepfather. We didn’t arrive in time to save the man, but we managed to help the poor soul find some help,” Jim said.

Dean had to sit down. “Right.”

Jim and Sam had some kind of silent conversation between the two of them and Jim nodded. “I’ll be outside if you need me,” he said.

Sam turned to Dean. He wasn’t sure what to expect from his little brother, but it certainly wasn’t what he ended up saying.

“Mom and Dad are dead because of me.”


	8. Chapter 8

Sam woodenly answered all of Dean’s questions. Yes, he saw Mom and Dad die in a dream beforehand. No, he didn’t tell them. No, he hadn’t known it was a premonition at the time. Yes, he saw them die, just as he had in his dream. Yes, Jim knew.

Sam waited as Dean stood. Dean muttered that he needed a second and walked out the door past Sam. Sam closed his eyes, feeling tears trail down his cheeks.

“Sam?”

Jim’s kind voice was, for once, unwelcome. Sam shook his head, wrapping his arms around himself and dropping into one of the small room’s chairs. “I need a moment alone,” he managed.

“Alright. Let me know if you need anything.”

Jim left Sam alone to his turbulent thoughts. When Sam heard the door open again, he cringed.

“Gimme a little longer, Jim,” he said.

“We need to talk.”

Sam turned, tensing and swiping at his eyes uncoordinatedly. Jake was so much bigger than him, and Sam had no way of knowing what kind of power or gift he might have.

“What is it?” he asked cagily.

Jake stepped closer. “There are quite a few holes in your story, and for Dean’s sake I haven’t said anything. But he’s my friend, and whatever freaky stuff is going on, it’s gonna hurt him in some way. And there’s just something about you I can’t put my finger on.”

“Your father. How did he die?” Sam asked.

Jake’s dark eyes flashed, and he moved faster than Sam could react, grabbing his collar. “Why do you keep bringing my family up?” he hissed.

“Have you ever done anything strange? Seen things you can’t explain?” Sam asked.

Jake’s dark face creased in confusion. “Kid, what are you going on about?”

Sam pried himself free of Jake’s grip, shaking his head. “You’ll understand at one point. But if you ever need me, give me a call. Get my number from Dean.”

He made his escape before Jake could collect himself enough to protest.

* * *

Jim found Dean sitting beside one of the nondescript buildings, slumped down in the dirt.

“Dean,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“Give me a minute, preacher man,” Dean rasped.

Jim lowered himself to sit next to him, waiting patiently.

“Is Sam telling the truth?” Dean asked.

Jim nodded.

Dean sighed heavily.

“You should talk to him,” Jim suggested.

“Yeah, sure.” Dean picked up a handful of dirt and let it trickle through his fingers.

Jim asked, “do you blame him?”

Dean’s head shot up. “No, of course not,” he protested. “Why would you think that?”

“I imagine Sam does right now. He probably expects you to walk back into that room and punch him in the face,” Jim said. “He needs you right now.”

For once, Dean didn’t seem to want to fight Jim. “Yeah. I got it.” He shoved himself to his feet and offered Jim a hand.

* * *

“Hey kid.”

All of the muscles in Sam’s back coiled tight under his thin shirt. Dean waited for him to turn before attempting to smile.

“You okay?”

Sam nodded silently.

Dean scratched the back of his neck and shifted his weight. “Right, well, look, I know things are . . . weird, but I believe you. And I’m sorry you had to go through all that on your own.”

Sam nodded again, face blank as he watched Dean.

He squirmed a little under Sam’s gaze. “Aren’t you gonna say anything?”

“You believe me,” Sam said softly. “So what are you going to do?”

“To be honest, I hadn’t gotten that far,” Dean said. “Got any plans yourself?”

“You’re not . . . you’re not angry.”

Dean recognized Sam’s stance as a defensive one and felt sick. “Sam, I’m not mad at you.”

Sam’s shoulders sagged. “You’re not?”

Dean gave in to his instincts and gathered his little brother into a hug. Sam’s wiry muscles went slack, and his head dropped onto Dean’s shoulder.

“I thought you would hate me,” he whispered.

“Could never hate you,” Dean said roughly. “I just wish you hadn’t gone through that all alone.”

Sam drew back. One hand went to swipe across his eyes—the ugly burn scars caught Dean’s gaze and made his gut clench. “Sorry for the chick flick moment,” Sam offered shakily.

“Dude, I initiated it. Plus, if anything deserves a chick flick moment, I think this does it.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Dean remembered something and grimaced. “I suppose this is a really bad time to tell you that I have a tour coming up soon.”

Sam flinched. “Yeah, you could’ve timed that better.”

“Sorry.”

* * *

“Yo, Winchester, you coming to the game on Saturday?”

Sam shook his head. After pulling his stitches when he had saved Dean, he had been spending most of his free time lying around. His plans for the weekend were about the same.

“C’mon, man, you should try and make more friends.”

Sam made the effort to look up and meet Larry’s gaze. “I’m just not into sports,” he said.

Larry groaned. “Give me something here, Winchester.”

“I get that you’re trying to be nice, man, but it’s wasted on me,” Sam said. “Why don’t you try it on Cindy over there?”

“Oh, she already shot me down.” Larry reached out to pat Sam on the shoulder, and Sam had to fight the instinct to flinch. “You could at least come to the party tonight.”

“What party?” Sam asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Kathy’s parents are going out of town. For once the seniors aren’t being jerks and they’re inviting all us new juniors.”

“Not really my thing,” Sam said.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Larry whined.

Sam bit his lip. “Maybe I could come over for a little bit,” he said hesitantly.

“That’s what I’m talking about! I’ll swing by your place at 11.”

Sam grimaced. Jim was going to love this.

* * *

“I’m not going to lecture you, Sam.”

Jim surveyed the teen in front of him. Arms wrapped around himself, head bowed, he was the picture of guilt. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I know you are. But I’m more curious about why you went to this party in the first place.”

Sam seemed to twist in a little tighter on himself. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t want to. But they all look at me like I’m, like I’m a freak, and I wanted to be normal. I don’t know why.”

Jim felt his heart clench. “Hey. Sam, you’re not a freak.”

Sam’s bony shoulders shrugged. “Aren’t I?”

Jim stood and approached. It was gratifying to feel how swiftly Sam’s tension dissipated as he touched Sam’s shoulder. “Sam. Look at me.”

Large hazel eyes, made even more vulnerable by alcohol, met his.

“God created each and every one of us,” Jim said. “Including you. And He has a plan for you. I can promise you that. You are not a freak.”

Sam closed his eyes.

Jim waited an appropriate amount of time before cuffing Sam on the side of the head and resting his hand on his crown. “Don’t think that you’re getting out of the consequences of this, buster,” he said lightly. “Guess who’s cleaning gum off the pews tomorrow.”

“Aw, Jim,” Sam pleaded. “That’s so gross.”

“So is underage drinking.” Jim ruffled up his over-long hair. “Live and learn, my son.” The second the word left his mouth, he cringed. What right did he have to call Sam his son?

Sam looked at him through his bangs. His expression went soft, and his lips curved up a little. “Guess next time I’ll have to be sneakier coming back in,” he said.

Relieved, Jim turned away. Then he stopped. “Next time?” he asked, outraged, but Sam was already darting upstairs, laughing.


	9. Chapter 9

“You writing to Sam?”

Dean looked up, blinking at Jake. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

There was something strange about the way Jake wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Just, uh, just wondering.”

“Dude, you’re being weird.” Dean put down his pen. “You okay?”

“Making sure the two of you were good, that’s all.”

Dean frowned, looking over Jake. “Weren’t you out on patrol? Hey, is that blood?” He stood, pushing aside Jake’s protesting hands and checking out his friend’s shoulder and hands. “You hurt?”

Jake shook his head. “Superficial. We, um, we hit a mine.”

Dean breathed out a curse. “And you’re all right?”

Jake laughed shakily. “I guess so. Everything just feels a little screwy.”

“I hear ya. Hey, sit down before you fall down.”

Dean waited for Jake to say something, but the guy seemed shaken to his core. “I really should get a medic,” Dean said.

“In a sec.” Jake took a deep breath. “You ever . . . you ever feel like there’s a storm coming?”

“I suppose.” Dean waited, watching Jake carefully. “You sure you’re okay?”

Jake scrubbed his face. “Yeah, I’m good. Shook me up, man.”

“I know. Hey, couple more months and we’ll be outta here.”

“Uh, look, I think my family’s gonna be on vacation when we’re on leave, would it be okay if I came and stayed with you?” Jake asked abruptly.

“I’d have to check with Jim, but I bet it’d be okay,” Dean said. He pressed his lips together and then pried Jake up off the bench. “Alright enough’s enough. You’re gonna see the medic.”

“That’s probably a good call.” Jake leaned against him heavily.

* * *

Jim kneaded his forehead. A coffee was silently set down next to him, and he smiled up at Sam in gratitude.

“You doing okay?” Sam asked quietly.

“Bit of a dilemma,” Jim said.

“Trouble coming up with a sermon?” Sam bent over Jim’s Bible, mouthing out the verse he had just highlighted.

“Actually the sermon’s coming along well. How does the title ‘Demons in Everyday Life’ sound?”

Sam grinned at him. “I like it.”

“Should show ‘em all a real demon. Might help donations to the church,” Jim said.

Sam chuckled, propping himself up on elbows beside Jim. “Alright, so why are you in a dilemma?”

Trust Sam to cut to the chase. “The demon,” Jim said flatly. “The psychic who notified me the first time—you remember—she says there’re some more portents.”

“What are we waiting for, let’s go!” Sam sprang to his feet.

Jim rubbed his forehead again. “Do you get the feeling that we’re being toyed with?” he asked. “It sounds silly, but I can’t help but feel that after all this time, to get signs that appear now . . .”

Sam grimaced. “I get that, Jim, but we can’t ignore this.”

Jim stood with a groan. “Well, if you’re going to be all logical,” he grumbled.

“One of us has to be,” Sam said cheerfully.

Jim frowned. “Sam, are you sure you don’t want to tell your brother about all of this? If something were to happen—“

“Jim, no. He already knows enough. I don’t want him to mess up his whole life because I’m some kind of—“ Sam cut himself off and avoided Jim’s gaze.

Jim sighed. “There are only so many times I can lecture you, Sam. But it’s your choice.”

* * *

“I think you were right,” Sam whispered.

Jim’s brow furrowed. “Sam?”

He shuddered. “Can’t you feel it? Evil, it’s here.”

The church they were scoping was old, very close to decrepit. Sam had researched about holy ground, but the place seemed like it had been broken and desecrated.

“Should we retreat?” Jim asked him.

Sam nodded violently. “We should—“

A stabbing pain drove in between Sam’s eyes. He collapsed with a cry, clutching at his head.

“Sam, wha—“

Sam cried out again as he saw Jim get dragged back and thrown across the altar.

“Welcome, my child.” A man was suddenly standing in front of him, leaning down and gently touching his cheek. “I have been waiting for you.”

Sam fought the pain and leapt to his feet, throwing out a fist. The man laughed, catching Sam’s arm easily and twisting it. Sam grit his teeth against the urge to whimper at the pain.

“Sam!”

“Hush, I don’t need you right now.” The man flicked his hand and Jim fell back, unconscious.

“Leave him alone,” Sam growled.

“Now now, son.” The man looked practically amused as he surveyed Sam. “You’ve become quite the spitfire, haven’t you?”

“Who are you?”

The man’s eyes flickered and became yellow. Sam pulled at his arm, but the demon was too strong. “Think of me as your father,” the demon said congenially. “I am Azazel.”

Sam began spitting out an exorcism, but the demon only laughed.

“Oh, Sam, I have such plans for you. But for now—“ He backhanded Sam, and everything went black.

* * *

“Something’s going on, man,” Dean said. He gripped the armrests, feeling the vibration from the plane’s engine underneath his palms.

“Dude, relax. Maybe he went on vacation, y’know?”

“He could’ve called.”

Jake took a sip of his airline-provided coke. “Yeah, but things get crazy. I go for weeks without talking to my family.”

Dean frowned. “It’s different.”

“We land in a few hours,” Jake soothed. “I’m sure everything’s fine.”

“So you say.” Dean felt the plane turn a little and shuddered, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

“How ‘bout some cards?”

Somehow they managed to make it on the ground. Dean tried Jim’s number again, but no one picked up. The nausea in his gut wasn’t from being stuck on a plane for so long.

The house was empty. Dean asked around, but no one knew where Jim or Sam was.

“Should we contact the police?” Jake suggested.

Dean slumped against Jim’s front door, drawing in a ragged breath. “I don’t know.”

* * *

“Sam. Sam, wake up.” Jim patted his cheek. “C’mon, kiddo.”

Sam groaned, head rolling against Jim’s thigh. “Wha—“

“Demon has us chained up.” Jim looked around the dim room again. “There are some people chained up on the other side of the room, but it’s too dark and they haven’t responded to me.”

Sam managed to sit up, staring dazedly at his chained wrist. “Huh.”

“You hurt anywhere else?” Jim asked.

Sam turned to him, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t start with that. The demon threw you all the way across the room.”

Jim smiled at him. “I’m a little sore, but I’ll live. What did it say to you?”

The way Sam involuntarily shivered was not a good sign.

“We’ll get out of this, Sam,” Jim murmured. “Stay strong, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure thing.” Sam swallowed, leaning back against Jim a little harder. “Uh, you calling in some favors from God?”

Jim laughed quietly. “That isn’t really how it works, but I can give it a go.”

“Dean was supposed to fly in today,” Sam said.

“Well, after this he won’t let you stay with me, that’s for sure.”

Someone coughed. Jim called out, but they didn’t answer.

A door slammed, sending both of them into defensive stances. Jim noticed Sam swaying a little and put an arm out to support him.

“Well, children, we’re almost ready. A few more, and we’ll finally be able to get started.” The demon stood silhouetted in the doorway. Jim bared his teeth.

“What’s your game, demon,” he shouted.

“Man of God, you will know soon enough.”

“Don’t antagonize it, Jim,” Sam whispered once the demon left. “It’s not worth it.”


	10. Chapter 10

The demon came periodically, dropping off new people in various places around the room. Sam and Jim did their best to try and interact, but most of them seemed terrified out of their wits and unwilling to respond.

The light shone in again. Sam and Jim had stopped jumping up each time the demon arrived with some new victim, but they still tensed automatically.

“These three should finish us off.” The demon snapped its fingers, grinning as they all blinked in the sudden light. Sam took in the room as quickly as possible—thirty individuals chained along the four walls, the majority around Sam’s age, but a rough smattering of both younger and older individuals chained in pairs with the kids Sam’s age.

And being dragged behind Azazel—

“Dean!” Sam shouted. Jim clapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late, the demon’s attention was already on them.

“I guess this will make things a little interesting,” it mused, stalking closer to them. Sam deliberately kept his eyes locked onto the demon’s, and didn’t look at Dean. “Don’t worry, kid, we’ll take good care of Dean.” Azazel locked Dean into the wall next to the two of them, and then Jake and a small girl beside him. “Two hours and we’re ready for the games to begin!”

Sam carefully felt for Dean’s pulse.

“Is he alright?” Jim asked softly.

“He’s out cold,” Sam told him. “Jim, this can’t be good.”

“I know, Sam. We’ll get through this, okay?”

Sam turned to his mentor. “You can’t promise that.”

Jim’s smile was sad. “We’ll do our best.”

Sam ducked his head, pressing his hand across his eyes. “Jim, if you or Dean die because of me, I don’t know . . . I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Sam, you put your trust in humans and you’ll always find yourself disappointed. God will see us through.”

He sighed. “Yeah, Jim. I know.”

A comforting hand rubbed his back. “Stay strong, Sam.”

* * *

“Dean, are you awake? Dean. Dean.”

The hard surface under his head didn’t make any sense. Dean blinked, levering himself up slowly.

“Jake?” he mumbled.

“Dean.”

Dean turned too fast, and his aching head throbbed. “Sammy?”

His little brother’s pale face was filthy. “Hey, Dean. You okay?”

Dean pulled Sam as close as possible, noting the tug of a shackle around his right wrist. “Sammy, I’ve been looking for you. What happened? Where are we? Are you okay?”

Sam’s laugh was shaky. “Dean, breathe. We’ve been taken, but none of us are hurt . . . yet.”

“None of—“ Dean looked around, blanching at the sight of Jake to his right, Jim to Sam’s left. “What the—“

“Sam, you need to explain quickly,” Jim murmured.

“Dean, we were taken by a demon. It’s related to my visions somehow. I think this has something to do with Mom and Dad’s death,” Sam said quickly.

Dean blinked at him. “Come again?”

Next to him, Jake moaned. “My head.”

“Jake,” Dean hissed. “Jake, wake up.”

“What happened?” Jake rubbed a hand over his face. “Are we—“

“Jake!”

“Nikki!”

Dean recognized the little girl from Jake’s pictures of his family and felt sick.

“Sam, what’s going on?” he asked. “Why are we all here?”

His little brother’s eyes met his in the darkness. “I wish I knew. But it’s nothing good.”

* * *

The demon’s plans were remarkably simple. Take two special children, pit them against each other with the incentive of a loved one’s survival as a reward. Sam watched, sickened, as two boys—twins, apparently—ripped each other apart.

Without warning, Sam’s shackle fell off and he was dragged forward. He heard the cries of Jim and Dean; as he fell to the floor at the demon’s feet, he shot a look back towards the two of them, minutely shaking his head until they fell silent.

Azazel knelt, tilting Sam’s chin up with one finger. “I’ve had my eye on you for a while now, Sam,” he said softly. “So much potential. This little test is meant to weed out my weaker children. I trust you won’t be one of them.”

A young girl was pulled to the center of the room as well. Sam swallowed, staring at the demon.

“Why have us fight each other like this? It doesn’t make any sense,” he said.

Azazel stood. “I need soldiers. Leaders. The powers I have given you are accessible to all of you. But to survive that, you need to be physically able. So fight.”

The demon’s hold on the two of them went lax. Sam expected the girl to run away, but she leapt at him without any warning. Sam fell back; her clawed fingers swiped across his cheek, leaving burning lines of pain and blood in their wake.

“Stop!” he pleaded, blocking her next advance with a side step and guarding arm. “Don’t fight me!”

She seemed to listen, for a moment. Her wild eyes latched onto Sam’s. “I don’t know what else to do, should I—“

“Ava, your fiancé will die if you don’t finish him.” Azazel’s voice was an insidious whisper, and Sam saw in one instant that he had lost Ava. She dove for him with the intent to kill. He managed to fend her off with a well-placed kick, darting back as she went down. He considered running for Jim and Dean, but Azazel’s yellow eyes flickered and beckoned, a threat that had to be taken out—Sam went for the demon without abandon, only to end up sprawled on the ground as Azazel shoved him back.

Taking advantage of Sam’s position, Ava leapt onto his chest, petite hands circling Sam’s throat and bearing down with more strength than he would’ve imagined for such a small girl.

“Your brother will die if you lose, Sam,” he heard. Spots appeared in his vision as he struggled.

* * *

Beside Jim, Dean was screaming. Sam’s thrashings were gradually losing strength, as the small girl above him relentlessly pressed down against his throat.

Desperate, Jim grabbed for Dean.

“Dean, do you love your brother?”

Dean barely looked at him, focused on Sam. “What kind of a question is that?”

“I know a spell that will link the two of you. Offer him some of your strength.”

Dean turned to him, wide green eyes terrified. “Do it, quick.”

Jim began chanting immediately, using one of the shackle edges to slice Dean’s finger open and trace a symbol on his other palm. It was a blood spell, so it would link the two brothers, otherwise Jim would’ve done it on himself.

In the middle of the room, Sam’s back arched and he was able to throw off the girl. Dean fell to his hands and knees, breathing heavily.

“You were being legit,” he gasped.

“Easy, Dean. The spell won’t kill you if you use it correctly. Sam can only take the strength that you lend him, so set up some boundaries.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Jim. “Why would I do that? Sam needs everything I can give him.”

“Do you think he’ll want to be responsible for his brother’s death?” Jim asked harshly. “Don’t be an idiot. Set limits, now.”

Dean nodded and closed his eyes. Jim focused back on Sam, who was now keeping Ava away by dodging her attacks. She dove for him, and Sam side stepped, using a stiff arm to shove her to the side. Ava tripped, shrieking as she fell.

The cracking sound her neck made was audible to the entire room. Jim watched, heart aching for Sam as his young charge went to the ground next to Ava. Jim couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he knew Sam’s posture, and it was one of prayer.

Dean cursed. “Aw, Sammy,” he whispered.


	11. Chapter 11

“I killed her, I killed her, I killed her.”

Dean gripped Sam’s shoulders tightly, shaking him. “Sam, stop it. You didn’t, okay? It was an accident, and it wasn’t your fault.”

Devastated eyes stared at Dean. “That’s a lie,” he whispered. “I’m evil. I always knew it, from the moment Mom and Dad died.”

Dean was at a loss. He opened his mouth and closed it again.

“Sam.” Jim’s comforting baritone interrupted Dean’s frantic thoughts. “Look at me.”

Dean watched numbly as Sam turned to the older man.

“Every person here is evil. You’re evil, your brother’s evil, I’m evil. It’s our human nature, Sam. But that’s the beauty of God’s plan. The evil within us can be overcome—just not by ourselves.”

“Jim,” Sam said brokenly.

Jim gathered Sam close, whispering something Dean couldn’t hear. The jealousy that usually flared up was strangely absent—being kidnapped by an insane demon had changed his perspective a little.

“Now for the soldier! Jake, m’dear, step up now, won’t you?”

Dean wanted to scream. He had never felt so helpless in his life, forced to watch as his brother and best friend were put through this insane test while he sat on the sidelines.

“Jake,” he called out. Next to him, Nikki was sobbing.

“It’ll be okay,” Jake said. He glanced back at Dean. “I’ve got this.”

* * *

It was bad enough that he was going to have to fight for his sister’s life.

But then the demon pulled Sam forward to be Jake’s opponent.

The room stank from all the blood. Jake stared dully at Dean’s little brother.

“It is curious, how fate works,” the yellow-eyed man said. He circled Jake and Sam. “That the two of you should end up connected.”

“I won’t fight him,” Sam said.

“You don’t have a choice,” the demon responded. “Or your pastor friend eats it.”

Sam bared his teeth at the demon.

“Why not have both of us be your leaders?” Jake asked.

The demon shook his head. “The most power goes to the highest up. There are no partners in this game.”

“I won’t fight him,” Sam repeated.

“Neither will I,” Jake said, though in his gut he knew that wasn’t true. He would do anything for his little sister.

The demon strode over to Sam’s guardian. Jake grimaced as the older man was picked up by invisible hands and held dangling against the wall. “Say that again, Sam.”

“Leave him alone!” The force of Sam’s shout almost seemed to make the demon stumble, but it wasn’t enough. The demon snapped its fingers and the preacher was writhing in pain. Sam’s angry scream did nothing.

“Have you had enough? Comply, or I’ll move onto your brother next,” the demon threatened.

“Enough,” Jake hissed. Dean would hate him forever after he snapped his little brother’s neck, but the longer this went on, the longer Nikki was in this awful place. “Fight me.”

* * *

Sam knew his limits, and knew he would lose. This was Jake’s first fight, and Sam’s second. It was showing. Sam’s dodging technique didn’t get him very far; he blocked a few of Jake’s attacks, but several blows glanced powerfully across his cheek and arms.

“Jake, stop,” Sam gasped.

“I can’t,” Jake grunted. He got close enough to catch Sam’s ankle. He stumbled a little and Jake took the opportunity to hit him in the shoulder.

It wasn’t a normal hit. Sam felt his arm immediately pop out of joint, and he bit back a cry of pain. Jake pressed his advantage, catching Sam hard across the cheekbone and kneeing him in the ribs to send him sprawling.

“Jake, stop!” Dean called. “Don’t do this, man. Please.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Jake responded. His eyes were hard as he stared down at Sam. “But I can’t let my sister die.” He placed a heavy boot against Sam’s chest and began to press down. Sam groaned, hearing something crack.

“Sam!”

Sam turned his head to the side, blood dribbling out of his mouth. His vision was a little off, but he could see Jim stretched out as far as his shackle would let him.

“Ephesians 6:12!” Jim shouted.

The seemingly-inane comment was out of place enough that both Sam and Jake paused in their fight to look at Jim.

“What?” Jake asked.

“You’re fighting the wrong person,” Jim said urgently. “Use your powers against the real enemy here.”

Sam squirmed against the heavy foot on his chest. He managed to gasp out, “Jim, how?”

“The demon may have given you these powers, but it’s your choice how to use them,” Jim said.

“Shut up!” The demon was there, next to Jim, hitting him. Sam let out a whimper.

Jim glared up at the demon, wiping blood from his lip. “Spawn of darkness, you will lose today.”

* * *

Jim began choking on blood as the demon turned its full attention on him. Dean waited until the demon took another step to Jim before leaping, managing to throw the monster off balance and wrap his chain around its throat.

“Die!” he shouted.

In response, the demon twisted in his grip, an awful bloody grin staining its teeth. “Fight, little soldier,” it rasped. “But you will see your brother turn on you. Just like he did before.”

Sam and Jake came out of nowhere, both of them focused entirely on the demon.

“Get back, Dean!” Sam yelled.

“No, I won’t sit back while you—“

An invisible force threw Dean back. His wrist jerked painfully on the shackle, and he felt something wrench that was not supposed to be pulled.

“Now, Jake!”

Dean looked up to see Sam and Jake attack. Their blows would have killed any grown man, but the demon didn’t seem fazed.

“You want to destroy me?” it growled. “Then you’ll have to fight yourselves.”

Black smoke streamed from the eyes and mouth of the demon. Dean watched in horror as it hesitated over Sam before moving into Jake.

“Jake!” Nikki shrieked. Dean roped her in with his uninjured arm before she hurled herself at her brother.

“Well, this is interesting.” Jake—the demon—stood, stretching. “What will you do now?”

The only thing Dean had left was giving his strength to Sam, and at this point he didn’t think it would be enough.

* * *

Everything was hazy and darkening. Each breath was difficult. Jim was running out of time.

“Sam,” Jim coughed. “Do what you need to do.”

Sam’s wide eyes met his before Jake backhanded him, sending him sprawling into the wall next to Dean. Jim pushed up with one hand, groaning at the pull on something in his guts.

“Sam. You know you have powers. Use them,” he grit out.

“Old man, you’ve outlived your time.” Jake’s voice was twisted into something dark and cruel. Jim braced himself, turning his face to stare at the boy.

Jim played his last card.

“In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost—“ he began in Aramaic.

At the same time, Sam shoved himself in front of Jim, holding his hand out to Jake. Jim couldn’t see his face, but he was shaking. The demon stumbled, going down on one knee.

“No, you won’t—“ it started.

“Jake, fight it!” Dean yelled.

Nikki cried out for her brother—a ripple of movement shivered over Jake. Hectic rage burned in the yellow eyes, but as Jim continued his prayer, the demon let out an unearthly howl. Jake collapsed. It was almost anticlimactic.

“Jake!” Nikki called. “Jake, wake up!”

Jake groaned, twitching and turning over. His eyes opened, and they were brown.

“Thank God,” Jim said.

“Oh good,” Sam said. Then he crumpled on the ground.

The surge of relief dissipated in an instant. Jim ignored Dean’s shout of alarm and turned Sam over with no regard for the pain in his own abdomen.

“He’s breathing,” Jim called out. Sam was pale, with trails of blood coming from his eyes, ears, and nose. “We need to get the people here to a hospital. Jake, you’re the only one free, you’re going to have to find help.”

The soldier in Jake was enough that he seemed to get past the trauma. Jim nodded in approval as Jake took one second to reassure his sister before jogging out.

“Jim, Sam’s going to be okay?”

“He’ll be fine.” Jim coughed into his hand and saw flecks of blood. Black spots danced across his vision. “He’ll be—“

Jim slipped into unconsciousness.


	12. Chapter 12

“That’s it, Sammy. Open your eyes, kiddo.”

Everything was weirdly numb. His eyelids felt like they had concrete bags tied to them. He managed to drag his fingers across the sheet. A warm hand covered them, and fingertips brushed hair from his face.

“You’re almost there.”

Sam scrunched up his nose, finally managing to pull up his eyelids. Dean was close enough that he was almost blurry.

“There you are, Sleeping Beauty.” Dean’s grin was bigger than his face.

“Don’ kiss me,” Sam mumbled.

Dean cuffed the side of his head gently. “Yeah okay, smart aleck.”

“Jim okay?”

“He had surgery, but he’s pulled through.”

“You?”

“Broke a bone in my wrist, but that’s it.” Dean showed him the cast, smiling a little. “Wanna sign it?”

“Maybe later,” Sam sighed. His eyes were too heavy; they kept closing without his permission.

“You did good, Sam,” Dean said. “You rest, okay? I’ll take care of everything.” A comforting palm rested against the side of Sam’s face—he turned towards it carefully, mouthing “thanks” against the calloused skin.

“I can sing you to sleep,” Dean murmured. “Just like Mom did.”

Sam’s eyes felt hot. Careful fingertips wiped away Sam’s tears and Sam felt Dean press his lips against his forehead.

_“Hey Jude—“_

* * *

Jim sipped carefully at the hospital broth. His door opened, and he looked up, hand automatically going to the gun he had tucked under the sheets.

“Jim.” Seeing Sam up and doing well rolled an enormous weight off of Jim’s shoulders.

“Sam,” he said warmly, “glad you’re up and about.”

Sam hobbled over, looking for all the world like a lost puppy. “How badly were you hurt?” he demanded. “How long were you in surgery? Are there any complications?”

Jim smiled. “C’mon, Sam, you know this won’t keep me down. Get over here.”

Sam leaned in, careful not to put any weight on Jim as he hugged him awkwardly with one arm, since the other was in a sling.

“Are the two of you done with the chick flick or should I go get some coffee?” Dean asked drily from the doorway.

“Jake get back to you?” he asked.

Dean nodded, entering the room and sitting on the foot of Jim’s bed. “Yeah, he got Nikki home safe and sound. They’re a little shaken up, but they’ll be okay.”

“Jim, is the demon . . . is it gone for good?” Sam asked. His voice was small.

“I don’t know, Sam. But I think we’ll be fine.”

“Like it could’ve survived your beatdown,” Dean said. He ruffled Sam’s hair.

Reminded, Jim leaned forward. “Dean, we need to break that spell,” he said, “it’s not supposed to stay in place forever.”

Dean shrugged. “Might as well be able to help out Sam as much as I can,” he said.

Jim rolled his eyes. “You don’t play with dark magic, kid.”

“Fine, fine.” Dean submitted to Jim slicing open the tip of his finger and chanting.

“You saved me,” Sam whispered.

Amused, Jim watched as the tips of Dean’s ears turned red. “It was nothing like what you did, Sammy,” Dean said.

Sam crawled over Jim’s legs and up against Dean. Jim couldn’t help but grin, making Dean’s blush even darker red.

“Glad you two boys are on the same page,” Jim said. “Now, if you two can keep your so-called chick flick moment a quiet one, I’ll try to get some sleep.”

As he closed his eyes, Jim heard Dean splutter and Sam laugh a little.

Jim smiled.

Yeah. They’d be just fine.

* * *

 

1 John 4:1

Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God: because many false prophets are gone out into the world.


End file.
